In defense of my Dawg Daughter, Remy DuBois, she had a tragic beginning. Having made this statement, I am going to reveal one of her disgusting habits. Drum roll, please . . . . . . . . she will eat (almost) anything. She will NOT eat her own, or other dog, poop, and she will NOT eat anything dead unless it reeks to high heaven. Having said this, let us reflect on our Monday morning walk at Cole Park.

One of the things I love about The Flat’s location is its’ proximity to the park. Cole Park is one of the nicest outdoor venues in Corpus Christi hosting an amphitheatre where during the summer we enjoy live music on Thursday nights and movies on Friday’s. There is a skate park, a playground, a fishing pier, picnic tables, bar-be-que pits, wide sidewalks to cycle or roller skate, or walk the dog, and best of all, Corpus Christ Bay. On those rare, crystal, “Sparkling City By The Sea” days, you can see Sandpiper and Seagull Condominiums on Mustang Island. The only danger in this adventure involves crossing Ocean Drive.

Remy and I do not walk there every day and, in her mind, it is a special occasion when she chooses that direction and I relent. During the summer, transients sleep in the park and if it is early, I would rather avoid the opportunity to rouse these non-tax payers and let them know the police are on the way. Officer Ed checks most mornings around 7:30 a.m. But Monday morning, the day after Father’s Day, we headed to the park with a spring in our step and looking forward to starting our day on the bay. Yeah, right. Our walk turned in to a mine field of chicken and rib bones, I kid you not. Everywhere, every foot, every turn, another bone.

Since moving, Remy has become accustom to the leash and when she is about to eat something foul, and if I am paying absolute attention and catch her in time (she is sneaky, sneaky, sneaky), I give her leash a little jerk and try to move her on. This maneuver in not always successful, but more often effective than not. Our walk through the park was miserable. She so desperately wanted to clean up this Father’s Day mess and I knew she, and I, would pay in bowel movements to come if she had her way. Which begs the question, what is wrong with these people that are bringing food to the park and tossing it on the grass? There are trash bins everywhere. Everywhere! As Remy is choking down a chicken bone, I wonder who these citizens are. What do they think will happen to these scattered bones. Are they not aware we have a possum and raccoon problem along the bay and this will only encourage their attendance to the after party. I am also wondering what I will do if she begins to choke on one of these bones. I am not squeamish and would not have a problem sticking my fingers down her throat in hopes of dislodging the bone, but if I had to pick her up, all 67 lbs. of sinewy muscle, and run to the house, crossing Ocean, to get her to the vet – let us pray this never happens. I will figure out a way to get your salvia from these bones and . . . . . well, I guess I cannot print what I would want to do.

Bottom line is this: I pick up my dogs’ poop; my dog, my poop, pack out what you pack in. Come on citizens of Corpus Christi – please, stop trashing our park. It feels like you are coming into my backyard and disrespecting me, and you are littering and endangering my beloved family pet. It will make Remy’s life less stressful, and as she ages, she deserves a stress free environment, and it is the right thing to do.